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Back Every Which Way But Dead
Chapters (42)
  1. EVERY
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty-one
  25. Twenty-two
  26. Twenty-three
  27. Twenty-four
  28. Twenty-five
  29. Twenty-six
  30. Twenty-seven
  31. Twenty-eight
  32. Twenty-nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty-one
  35. Thirty-two
  36. Thirty-three
  37. The Undead Pool: An Excerpt
  38. Chapter 2
  39. About the Author
  40. Praise for KIM HARRISON’sprevious Rachel Morgan novelsDEAD WITCH WALKING andTHE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UNDEAD
  41. Also by Kim Harrison
  42. About the publisher

I reached up to pull myself onto the ice—and failed. Snow fell in to make puddles of slush. Switching tactics, I tried to lever my leg up. It wouldn’t move. I couldn’t move my leg.

“Okay,” I said, not as scared as I thought I ought to be. The cold must have numbed everything—even my thoughts felt blurry. I was supposed to be doing something, but I couldn’t remember what. I blinked as I saw Trent, his legs still in the water.

“Oh, yeah,” I whispered. I had to get out of the water. The sky above me was black, and the night was silent but for the ringing in my ears and the faint sound of sirens. The light from the fires was dim and going dimmer. My fingers wouldn’t work, and I had to use my arms like clubs to pull a chunk of boat closer. Concentrating to not lose my thought, I pushed it under to buoy me up. A groan slipped from me when, with its help, I managed to slip a leg up onto the ice. I rolled awkwardly and lay panting. The wind was like fire on my back, and the ice was warm. I’d done it.

“Where is everyone?” I breathed, feeling my flesh hard against the cold ice. “Where’s Ivy? Where’s the fire department? Where’s my phone?” I giggled as I remembered it was at the bottom of the river with my purse, then sobered as I thought of the unconscious people drifting downward through the icy water in their best finery to join it. Hell, I’d kiss even Denon, my old, despised boss from the I.S., if he showed up.

That reminded me. “Jonathan,” I whispered. “Oh, Jo-o-oo-onathan,” I sang. “Where are you? Come out, come out, wherever you are—you tall freak of nature.”

I lifted my head, glad I was pointed in the right direction. Squinting past my stringy hair, I could see a light where the limo sat. The headlights were aimed at the river, shining to show the destruction and the sinking bits of boat. Jonathan’s silhouette stood at the quay. I could tell it was him because he was the only person I knew who was that tall. He was looking the wrong way. He’d never see me, and I couldn’t shout anymore.

Damn it. I was going to have to get up.

I tried. I really did. But my legs wouldn’t work and my arms just lay there, ignoring me. Besides, the ice was warm, and I didn’t want to get up. Maybe if I shouted he’d hear me.

I took a breath. “Jonathan,” I whispered. Oh hell, this wasn’t going to work.